Rachat
by aphrodite931
Summary: For the wretched of the earth there is a flame that never dies, even the darkest nights will end and the sun will rise. This is the story of Arthur Kirkland, a convict striving to earn forgiveness for the sins he committed. Inspired by Les Miserables.
1. Prologue

AN: I would like to first apologize to all my other readers as to how I could have the audacity to write/post another story when I have so many unfinished works. Good news for my Hetalia readers, An End's ending is coming along and will hopefully be finished come next week. As for my Fairy Tail readers, I beg that you refrain from tar and feathering me. I will work on both Ophie and WYDKM soon. I'm trying to find inspiration after such a long hiatus. However, I promise something, whether incredibly short or long, will be updated on both stories come Dec. 24. Seriously though, it could be really short, like one sentence short. I hope it won't be that short but yeah. Keep dogging me and I promise you I'll stick with it (even if I feel as if the writing has gone completely down hill since the first chapter T.T)**  
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Onto this story though, it is INSPIRED by Les Mis, not a word for word retelling. Characters will occasionally switch roles, develop their own roles, and just behave differently from their novel, play, and soon to be movie (I'M SO EXCITED!) counterparts. Now without further adieu, enjoy the first installment detailing the life of the miserable.

**Rachat**

The Miserable

Our tale finds its start at an inconspicuous beginning as do most. These modest origins and humble geneses are caused by the shortsightedness of humanity. A simple act of kindness, generosity, or respect can forever change the life of one and in turn this person can then forever change the world. It is like a ripple seen in a pond. The point at which the disturbance originates is small but the effect is far reaching.

But should nothing refresh the pool, no interruption in its flow, the water grows stagnant and thus churns in its own filth until it is poisonous to touch and tongue. It is within this brackish abandon, known as London of 1750 -the turning of the century-, we find a hapless orphan.

A mop of dirty blonde hair scattered about the filth ridden streets of London's unwanted; the wretched of the Earth. His bare and brown feet fell upon the cobblestone at a frantic and frenzied pace. His thin linens, littered with holes as bare as they were, grew painfully wet at each new puddle he ran through. He did his best to avoid the gaps between the cobblestones but given credit to the cities dismal reputation, the rain that had fallen just that morning prevented him from avoiding the biting pools. Had he been allowed to slow down, perhaps he might have kept dry but he couldn't stop and doubted he ever could. The constable and his men were behind him at last glance and he dared not look back to see if he was safe or not.

'Damn Allistor! Damn him to hell!' the child cursed, fighting back the tears that threatened to overtake his emerald eyes. Despite his youth, he had learned to stop crying at four. It was a useless action and profited a man nothing. The boy was six now and as such, he shan't weep like an infant. Allistor always teased him, calling him as such and the boy would be damned to prove him right.

He shook his head to the side, successfully freeing himself of his weak sentiments. His timing was serendipitous as he glanced up just in time to avoid a collision with a carriage. The near impact earning him an angry shout from the operator and frightened whinnies from the steeds. Scared and tired, he looked for a rescue, anything he could use as cover until the coast was clear. His emerald eyes alit as he found his refuge in the form of a tight, back alleyway nestled between two flats. The opening was just large enough for him to fit into ensuring no one would come chasing after him. He clambered over to the opening, tearing off bits of fabric on the rough faces of the bricks as he desperately fought to get farther and deeper into the pit, away from prying arms lest any reach in after him.

Finally, he stopped. His feet could no longer carry him forward and he stood shock still between the two buildings experiencing a short lived moment of pure peace. But the adrenaline was quickly exuded out of his body letting fatigue set in. He had run clear cross town, trying to get as far away from his pursuers as fast as possible. They had been relentless today for whatever reason. The vagabond believed that the cause could stem from the newest addition to the London authority, a Snowback with stern features and ice blue eyes that reflected the frigid depths of his soul. However, the reason behind the unremitting chase was the least of the child's concern. The question 'why' was of little value in his life. Why did they pursue him till the men were ravenous beasts and not officers of the law? Why did his parents abandon him to the cold and unforgiving London streets? Why had God forsaken him, a mere child? Rather, 'what' was a far better query. What would he eat that day? What lodgings would he procure for the night? What would happen to him if he was ever apprehended? The latter prose terrified him greatly, remembering the horrors of imprisonment Allistor had regaled him with. The bureaucrats would take him away from them, his only family-although they were more akin to a ragtag group of urchins then a family-, and force him into manual labor; they might even kill him if they had no room for such a small and scrawny child. The gallows were the only unbiased lodging in the city, taking home men, women, and children. But the youth was not ready to return to the sky, presuming heaven would even open its gates to a pathetic scourge such as his self, just yet.

The urchin grunted as he fell onto his hands and knees, his skin scratching against the grimy stone path. His body wretched and contorted as he heaved gulps of rotting air into his lungs. The child's heaves began to slow in time until he found a regular pattern once more. The breaths later grew deeper with each passing hour and his eye lids began to droop. Soon sleep took him away, away to a world of magic and fairies, a world in which he could smile.

The years would ebb on and the child between the walls disappeared. For a week, the boy used the space as his shelter, his home, but then the rats began to take note. At first it was only one but then more came to the space between the walls. They would nip at his toes when he fell asleep, sharp and jagged teeth tearing into the sensitive flesh of his soles. He'd wake up with a start and fight the buggers off but each night they came back and with more in tow. The boy grew frightened that one night, he'd be consumed in his sleep. This thought scared him not solely because it implied his death but because he knew no one here would miss the little boy between the walls. No one would care if he died a vermin's death and thus vowed never to return. He refused to die like a blaggard, alone and unwanted.

Instead, he tried to go back to his brothers and sisters, to see if they had escaped but he could find neither hide nor hair of them when we ventured back to their makeshift home in the abandoned attic of an isolated flat. It was the perfect hideout from the coppers and the like, as well as an ideal location for a murder. A few times the vagabond had heard the final cry of a man, sometimes a woman, but paid it no heed. After all, what was he to do about it? A scrawny child like himself? Why, not a soul would miss him thus ensuring he would share the same fate as the poor sap calling for help outside if he ever tried anything.

The boy spent about a month there before opting for another home. It seemed clear to him the others weren't coming back and he had no way to find where they had went so why stay? He never liked that particular abode anyway. The urchin found his new home by the sea port, a far more reasonable location he figured. There were many good pockets to pick and wealthy donors giving alms to the poor at the port. He took refuge on docked ships occasionally but preferred to stay in various lodgings afforded through his extracurricular activities. The shopkeeps most likely knew he was a crooked young thing but as times were hard and paying customers hard to come by, the meager earnings he'd pay them for just a night's sleep sated them enough.

He managed to scrape by a living like this for two years until he was 8. He didn't know his actual birth date so kept track of his age by celebrating his birthday on that of the Lord and Savior's, Jesus Christ. Some nights, he liked to pretend the masses of people praying were all just for him. It was fun to watch nobles and the elites kneel down and imagine they were bowing to him.

And so, it was upon this eighth year, local urchin and Arthur Kirkland, found his life would be forever changed.

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I hope you enjoyed the prologue. I've already finished the first chapter and am working on the second one. I expect the chapters for this story to be short and with any luck their brevity will propagate frequent or at least regular updates.

So just tell me what you think and remember that the more reviews I get the more inspired I am to churn out another chapter! :)


	2. The Miserable

A/N: I hope everyone enjoyed the prologue. I'm eager to know what you all have to think about my choice of characters so please take a few minutes to comment when you're done. :) Also, I'm interested to learn if any of you have read the book, seen the play, listened to the music, or are excited for the 2012 movie, Les Miserables! So leave an answer in your comment! :)

**Rachat**

**The Miserable**

The gulls cried and mulled about the shores, perching upon various rooftops and sails of ships. Their black eyes scoured the cobblestone ground below for traces of food but only hints of gray were cable of being seen between the floods of people. The harbors as of late had been lively with the promise of riches and land across the vast waters to the west. The way in which the bodies moved and jostled about each other resembled a great dance, practiced to the letter so as to prevent a disastrous collision; and with the same practiced precision, so too did the thieving hands reach into the pockets of the various strangers, grabbing coins, watches, and numerous other knickknacks.

Arthur Kirkland smirked deviously at his "findings". Thus far, he had managed to obtain twenty sterling silver pieces, twelve copper coins, and one pocket watch. Tonight, he would dine like a king. His mirth was so great, he failed to realize the appearance of London's paramount law officer, Basch Zwingli, the same man who hounded him years ago, and his subordinates.

"I want every thieving wretch from this infested sewer of humanity brought to me to be thrown into the gallows. Is that clear?" Basch commanded his officers. Over the years, his reputation had only grown to be more callous and feared. His unsympathetic nature was infamous, jailing woman sick with child and sending boys to the gallows who were only just old enough to walk.

But commander Basch was not an evil man. He believed in the law to the utmost sense and obeyed its ruling to very letter and from this unwavering respect for authority he found no pity in his heart for those who broke the edicts of society. He himself had crawled from the wretched misery of poverty. His mother had been a gypsy and his father unknown his entire life. Through hard work, providence smiled upon him and graced him with success, a sign he deigned to believe was heavenly recognition of his high moral standing and fortitude. His nature only grew stricter in his conviction and he punished to the greatest extent of the law all those who broke it.

And as the officers filed amongst the people, their eyes trained to catch a thief in the act not that such evidence would be necessary -their mere testament, false or true would prove a man guilty enough should he ever survive the chain gang and face a judge-, a shrill cry rang from the docks. Arthur was unsure as to why his ears pricked at the high pitched wailings amongst the other sounds within the harbor but they did just that. The blonde haired imp clambered above crates meant to be moved onto the ships and scouted the scene to find the source of the racket. Emerald eyes scoured the people, passing from brightly colored skirt to embroidered waistcoat for the wailing child that caught his attention. To his right, Arthur finally located the noise. A small bundle sat alone amongst various chests and bags next to a great ship. No doubt, it was meant for the New World, the Americas. Intrigued, Arthur hopped from the wooden containers, narrowly avoiding landing on a lady. Her indignant cry hardly registered in his ears as he pushed through the crowd, but not before he snagged the riches from within the lady's purse. He didn't check his score, opting to wait and make his way to the newborn. Arthur took a quick glance around him, looking for the mother and father and finding none, approached the tiny bundle. Arthur sucked in his breath at the sight of the bright-eyed child before him. His eyes captured the skies and his hair could certainly be sold as gold considering the inexplicable similarity between the two. Without realizing, Arthur smiled at the tiny lamb. The moppet surprised him by ceasing his sobbing to glance up at him and return Arthur's smile with one of his own. The innocence shone through the curved lips of the newborn, a small giggle erupting from his lips. With no reservations, the child reached forward towards Arthur, his chubby fingers just hardly brushing against the unruly eyebrows of the older child.

"Gahhh!" Arthur cried out, taking a step back and throwing his arms up to cover his bushy brows. "Little brat," he grumbled, trying to ignore the glee alit on the child's face. But he could only maintain his annoyed facade for so long before his expression softened at the carefree newborn before him. The child's giggles failed to halt, and his hands seemed to search for Arthur in a desire to feel him. Unconsciously, Arthur reached out to capture the small palm that called out to him only to be held back by an unwelcomed and jarring force.

Arthur struggled against the hold of his captor, raising his voice and repeating slurs he hardly knew the meaning of aside that they were offensive.

"Quit squirming brat," a graveled voice called out from behind him, encouraging him to fight against his abductor even more.

"Let me go swine!" Arthur cried out, eyes snapped shut as he fought his oppressor.

The scene attracted few spectators. It was not unusual to see a street rat be apprehended. They were scourge of London and some even clapped quietly at the child's capture.

"Quiet urchin," the man responded, placing a sound hit to Arthur's head.

Arthur's sight grew fuzzy after the blow, his cries dying down to nothing more than half-hearted whispers as he struggled to stay awake and aware of what was happening to him. But his mind was only able to register being dragged in an unknown direction, away from the lamb that had captured his attention.

"What have we here?" a strict voice called out. Arthur vaguely noted its familiarity but couldn't be bothered to pay it much attention as his head throbbed and threatened to split.

"A pick pocket sir," his captor announced, kicking Arthur onto the ground and before the man's feet.

A stagnant pause filled the air before Arthur felt a firm grasp pull on his collar and lift him to face the man before him. And despite that his eyes still could not focus, Arthur recognized the man at first glance and terror raced through his body.

"Zwingli," Arthur murmured.

"Hmmm, it would seem you know my name. That either makes you a thief or the son of an officer as you are too young to be an agent yourself. But considering your pitiful dress, I presume the former," Basch commented, staring into the eyes of the forlorn and horrified youth before him. His severe gaze ripping from Arthur and onto the officer that had apprehended the vagabond, "What did he do?"

"I caught him stealing from a lady sir. I first confirmed with her the missing contents of her purse and then pursued him badgering an infant."

"Filth," Basch swore at the child, glaring daggers at him. "Trying to corrupt a mere newborn? Despicable. …Empty your pockets lad and let's prove your guilt."

Arthur dared not make a sound or move an inch, even after Zwingli ordered him to show the contents of his pockets. He merely could not work up the nerve staring into the icy orbs of the man who haunted him and others like him.

"Gone dumb now I presume," Basch said, answering the child's lack of movement. "Fine, I will have to search myself." Basch quickly slid a hand into the pockets of the little boy, pulling loose his "findings" revealing the stolen coins and watch Arthur had procured earlier that day. Had he not been so mortified, Arthur would have found the dynamic shift in events humorous. Earlier that day he was sure he would buy a meal and rent a lodging worthy of royalty and now he faced the cruel, cold, confinement of a cell.

"Th-those are mine sir," Arthur whispered, making a feeble, last-ditch attempt to feign innocence.

"A thief _and_ a liar," Basch murmurred, "So tell me then, how did you come across such great treasures?"

"I-I- They were given to me as alms."

"Sargent, tell me, is what the Lady reported stolen amongst these items?"

The officer glanced over the objects, Arthur's riches having grown by two silver pieces and one gold coin.

"Yes, sir, the silver pieces and gold coin."

"A thief indeed," Basch mused, taking one last glance at the items. "Take him to Fleet Prison where he'll await transfer to Newgate," the blonde instructed, his icy gaze falling on his subordinate.

"B-But sir! Newgate is a God forsaken trap of murders and ruffians. He is wrong in what he did but he is still but a child!"

Arthur paled at the officer's protests. Trembles coursed through his small body as fear overtook him. He had only stolen a few meager coins; surely those whom which he robbed would not terribly miss them. God, what would become of him now?

"Exactly," Basch stated, drawing up to meet the officer.

"Wh-What?"

"He is but a mere child already corrupted and spawns within him is the root of evil. I would be doing the city an injustice to grant him any lenience. Thieving children become thieving men and thieving men turn into murderous demons. He must pay for his sins, past, present, and future, regardless of age."

"B-But Newgate?"

"Commander, have you ever considered your stagnant position in the enforcement agency? Surely not," Basch continued, answering for the inferior man, "But if you had, you might have realized that your lack of promotion stems from a weakness of heart, mind, and morals. You'd be willing to lower the standards each member of society is expected to perform for wayward youths and sob stories that rot the teeth with their lies. This child is a thief and he will be nothing more and as such, he will be punished as a thief of the highest caliber." Zwingli's confidence left no further room for argument or protest. With a dejectedly and mildly humiliated nod, the officer restrained Arthur once more.

Arthur didn't fight or curse the man as he felt the shackles of oppression wrap around him but resigned himself to his fate is horrified silence.

Within the hour, Arthur had been taken to the small temporary holding jail within the London station, awaiting his transfer to Fleet and then finally, to Hell itself, Newgate.

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A/N: Woo! So this being a Hetalia story I'm going to throw in some history. Awesome right? Anyway, both Fleet Prison and Newgate were really prison in London during this time. Fleet Prison was a debtors prison and while not particularly enjoyable, certain perks could be attained if a criminal's family could provide for it. Newgate was a prison reserved for dangerous and unruly criminals such as murders, rapists, and other violent felons. So Arthur is being sent to the most notorious and horrible prisons in all of London.

On a side note, Charles Dickens has mentioned both prisons in his works, the Pickwick Papers and Oliver Twist, respectively and was inspired to do so after his own father was thrown into a debtors prison.

PLEASE COMMENT!


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